


Modern Day Cain

by fictionalkid, memequeen1127



Series: New Invention [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will Graham, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Established Relationship, Established Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal Lecter Loves Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Mason wants revenge for his ruined face, Miscommunication, Murder, Murder Husbands, Paranoia, Season 4 AU (sort of), Violence, Will Graham Knows, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter in Cuba, Will Graham is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:09:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalkid/pseuds/fictionalkid, https://archiveofourown.org/users/memequeen1127/pseuds/memequeen1127
Summary: Hannibal catches the exact moment when Will’s eyes widen.“Hannibal, your 7 o’clock,” he whispers, leaning across the table to close the short distance between them. “Unwanted company.”Hannibal meets his partner’s eyes under his boater hat and gives a nod, so slight that only Will would notice. He waits a minute, eats another mouthful of his meal, then looks to his left, lifting an arm as if to brush a speck of dust off his shoulder. What he’s really doing is covertly glancing at the man loitering at the souvenir stand in the street behind them.-----Hello! We are finally back with the sequel. Hannibal and Will have managed to escape to Cuba after wreaking havoc in Florence. But unfortunately, trouble follows them, in the form of Mason Verger seeking revenge for his disfigured face. Can our beloved Murder Husbands successfully beat this new threat, while navigating their evolving relationship?
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: New Invention [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994200
Comments: 20
Kudos: 42





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We recommend that you read the prequel fic(s) before delving into this one, it will make following the plot much easier.

  
Hannibal catches the exact moment when Will’s eyes widen. 

“Hannibal, your 7 o’clock,” he whispers, leaning across the table to close the short distance between them. “Unwanted company.” 

Hannibal meets his partner’s eyes under his boater hat and gives a nod, so slight that only Will would notice. He waits a minute, eats another mouthful of his meal, then looks to his left, lifting an arm as if to brush a speck of dust off his shoulder. What he’s really doing is covertly glancing at the man loitering at the souvenir stand in the street behind them. 

Medium height and build, brown hair, and the posture of someone who regards himself as more important than he really is, and certainly more important than those around him. It’s unmistakable — Dr. Frederick Chilton. 

What is this self-absorbed disaster of a psychiatrist doing in Cuba? Hannibal doesn’t know. He looks to Will and raises an eyebrow. Will stares back at him with an equally puzzled expression.

There has been no news of Frederick in months, not since Hannibal and Will had left the United States for Italy, then relocated to Cuba under false names. They keep tabs on their former friends and acquaintances via Google alerts, as well as monitor the manhunt led by Jack Crawford.

After Hannibal and Will left Florence with a loud declaration of their love and violence, Jack wisened up about Hannibal moonlighting as the Chesapeake Ripper. He also accepted Will’s involvement in the carnage left behind in Italy, and wasted no time plastering both their faces onto the international wanted lists.

Of course, by the time Jack did so, Hannibal and Will had been lounging in their new house under the Cuban sun, pleasantly settled into their new identities. Hannibal wasn’t concerned about Jack finding them, but he always liked to be prepared. Thus, the casual monitoring of their status as fugitives and the activities of their former acquaintances.

It has been a while since his iPad dinged with a relevant alert, and even longer since that alert had concerned Frederick Chilton. Hannibal searches through the specific room in his memory palace dedicated to the man, a small broom closet, and pulls out the most recent piece of news about him.

A teaser about a new book Frederick was writing. Hannibal smirks as he remembers reading the small excerpt, explaining the catchy title: _Fatal Attraction — The story of Hannibal the Cannibal and his lethal seduction of an unstable but gifted former FBI Agent._

Ah yes, he remembers now. He had chuckled at the title but resolved not to tell Will about it yet. He would wait for the actual book to come out, then surprise Will with it for Christmas.

The only reason why Hannibal could guess Chilton is in Cuba is that the man had finally published his book and used the money to go on vacation.

Hannibal smirks again and pats Will’s hand, communicating that Chilton’s presence on their island was a cosmic coincidence and that he would explain later. Will shrugs but nods, trusting Hannibal.

Hannibal’s heart swells with the casual display of trust. He had worked hard to earn that trust, and now his heart leaps with joy every time he is reminded of it.

Will leans across the table and reaches out a hand to lower the brim of Hannibal’s hat, bringing their faces close enough for a sweet kiss. Hannibal pours love into it, the knowledge that Will is kissing him for the strategic purpose of hiding them from Frederick Chilton as he strolls past their table only making Hannibal feel more in love. If that’s possible, anymore.

Will pulls back and grins. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.”

Hannibal matches his grin. “Let’s continue, shall we?”

He sets down a sizable stack of bills to pay their dinner fee, stands, and holds out his hand. Will takes it as he stands as well, and then the two of them are casually walking down the busy Cuban street, hand-in-hand, stalking their former acquaintance.

Dr. Chilton makes his way to a hotel a few blocks away. Only a _four_ star establishment, Hannibal notes. Clearly, the book didn’t sell as well as expected. Before the man goes inside, he steps towards a small fruit stand off to the side of the hotel entrance. It’s evening, and if Chilton has just been out for dinner like Hannibal and Will, it makes sense that he would stop for a little dessert. Hannibal chuckles to himself, remembering how the last dessert dish he fed Dr. Chilton was blood pudding.

Will pulls him over to the same side of the street as Chilton, to linger without drawing attention to themselves. He pretends to admire a scarf while Hannibal fiddles with some jewelry, both discreetly looking at Chilton out of the corners of their eyes.

The psychiatrist-turned-author is haggling over an orange, which is just the ridiculous thing Hannibal expects of him. He’s found all the fruit here to be of much higher quality than whatever was available back in Baltimore, simply because they are in the tropics.

Dr. Chilton is now gesticulating with his hands and growing more impatient; the fruit seller is looking a tad confused about why this American tourist is haggling with him over the price of an orange, but sticks to his price just the same.

Suddenly, Chilton throws his arm out too wide and knocks the top-most orange off the pile. It lands on the pavement and rolls down the street, almost dangerous in its speed.

The orange comes to a stop after bouncing off Hannibal’s shoes, and Hannibal looks up.

Dr. Chilton stares at the fallen fruit before slowly dragging wide eyes up Hannibal’s frame. They grow wider the higher they go, until they meet Hannibal’s own dark eyes and Chilton gasps.

Hannibal squeezes Will’s hand tightly in his own. There was horrified recognition in those eyes, and their leisurely desire to stalk Dr. Chilton has just turned into something much more serious.

Chilton spins around and almost runs into his hotel, ignoring the fruit seller’s annoyed yelling as he rushes past. Hannibal’s sharp eyes follow him into the building, catching sight of the panicked look Chilton throws over his shoulder the second before he disappears inside.

“Fuck,” Will curses.

Hannibal nods grimly.

* * *

Breaking into Chilton’s hotel room is a piece of cake. Hannibal distracts the receptionist with his charismatic persona, while Will’s quick fingers pinch one of the master key cards from behind the desk. After that, it’s simply a matter of finding out which room Chilton resides in, and sneaking inside after the man leaves the room to visit the hotel bar. 

“Do you think he’s already alerted the FBI?” Will asks, pacing around the dark room. 

“I doubt it,” Hannibal reassures him. “The FBI are offering sizable monetary incentives for any leads regarding our whereabouts. Our dear friend Dr. Chilton is going to try to obtain substantial proof before going to the authorities to ensure that he gets his paycheck.”

Will snorts. “He’s always valued fame and fortune over morality. It doesn’t make him less of a threat.”

Hannibal walks over to lay a hand on Will’s shoulder, stilling his movements. “How would you like to deal with this threat?”

“How would _you_?” Will grumbles, but rests his head on Hannibal’s chest. “We make joint decisions now, Hannibal.”

Hannibal smiles. He’s pleased that Will is more concerned with their decision-making process than the decision itself. It shows that his beloved really doesn’t care for Chilton at all. Or maybe it shows how much he cares for Hannibal. 

Either way, Hannibal is happy.

“We could kill him easily,” Hannibal replies. “However, there is something appealing about leaving dear Frederick to live in constant fear.”

Will laughs into his chest. “Always looking over his shoulder? If we were anyone else, the prospect of letting him live would be seen as mercy.”

“If we were anyone else, it would be,“ Hannibal says softly.

“I suppose we can simply surprise him in this room, have a civil chat, share a drink or two. Make him a deal; we won’t touch him if he doesn’t tell anyone about us,” Will suggests. 

“Sounds like a great plan, darling.” 

* * *

Dr. Chilton returns to the hotel room accompanied by a pronounced smell of liquor. Although not yet stumbling, he’s intoxicated enough not to notice Will and Hannibal waiting in the shadows of the lounge room. As the man flips the lightswitch and the ceiling lamp illuminates the figures of his two guests, his mouth opens in a silent gasp. 

“Good evening, Frederick,” Will greets, lounging on one of the pristine armchairs in the corner, feet demonstratively lifted to rest on the coffee table. “We’d offer you a drink, but it smells like you’ve already had plenty.” 

Chilton’s eyes widen in fear and he braces himself on the wall as he takes a step back towards the door. 

“What do you want?” he chokes out, struggling to keep his tone even.

“To continue living our lives undisturbed,” Hannibal speaks, his voice the complete opposite to Chilton’s, calm and unbothered. “But unfortunately, us catching each other’s eye earlier this afternoon has necessitated a direct meeting.”

“If you leave now, I won’t call the police,” Chilton says, eyes nervously darting between Will and Hannibal, as if expecting either of them to attack the next second. 

“We’re not concerned about the police,” Will laughs, rising to his feet. 

Alerted by the movement, Chilton instinctively takes another step back, startling when his back meets the wall. Hannibal watches the man’s plight with an amused smile on his face. It’s enthralling to see Will, _his Will,_ elicit such fearful responses from their former acquaintance with his mere presence. 

“I’m sure that you would go to great lengths to ensure your survival, wouldn’t you, Frederick?” Hannibal asks.

Chilton nods rapidly. His eyes survey the room for potential weapons should he need to defend himself, but of course, Will and Hannibal made sure to remove all such objects out of reach long before he entered the room. Even if he managed to find something, it would be useless. Hannibal and Will are experienced killers; Chilton is no more than a frightened wannabe-author.

“So would we. As such, I think we have an opportunity to turn this situation to our mutual benefit,” Hannibal continues, stifling the urge to chuckle at Chilton’s anxious face. 

Will, however, values polite manners less than Hannibal, and lets his mouth stretch into a victorious smirk, showing a hint of vicious teeth, as he looks at Chilton in his predicament. Will takes another few steps towards the man, and Chilton swallows uncomfortably. He glances back at Hannibal, as if he’s somehow less menacing out of the two of them. An interesting choice on dear Frederick’s part, considering that he’s aware of Hannibal’s history of spreading murder and terror across America and Europe, and approaching triple digits in his kill count. 

“I’m eager to hear your proposition, Dr. Lecter,” Chilton replies with a hint of something that sounds like hope in his voice.

Perhaps the man thinks of Hannibal as the more reasonable one, harmlessly sitting in his chair and talking about a peaceful resolution, compared to Will, who is casually but surely advancing on Chilton.

“Let’s put it this way; you forget that you saw us here in Cuba, and in return, we won’t harm you,” Will states. Chilton’s eyes snap back to him. 

“Sounds like a great arrangement,” he agrees, a visible drop of sweat rolling down the side of his forehead, “I won’t say a word to the authorities, let me assure you.”

“Rest assured, Frederick, we will know if you do,” Hannibal hums, finally standing from his chair.

“And at that point, there won’t be a place on Earth that you can hide that we won’t find you,” Will adds menacingly.

Chilton gulps. “I-I understand.”

Will steps closer to get right into the man’s space, and pats him on the shoulder. Chilton squeezes his eyes shut, sweat trickling down his face, and Will laughs. Hannibal’s breath catches.

“Goodnight, Frederick.”

Chilton stammers out a goodnight, and then Will slams his head against the wall, catching his limp body as he immediately blacks out. Hannibal waits until Will has situated Chilton’s body on the bed, then walks forward with quick, measured steps and catches Will’s mouth in a bruising kiss.

“You are a beautiful, ruthless thing,” Hannibal gasps when Will pulls away to mouth at his neck. He feels the vibrations of Will chuckling into his skin.

“Shouldn’t you be used to it by now?” he wonders. “We’ve killed together for months now, but every time I show even slight violence you quiver like it’s the first time.”

Hannibal exhales and brings his hands up to run his fingers through Will’s hair, tilting his head back to lock eyes.

“Can you truthfully say that you don’t feel the same, each time I hurt someone?” he inquires softly.

Will’s eyes flash and he swallows.

“No,” he says, arousal settling into their shared gaze. “I can’t.”

Hannibal smiles and untangles their bodies. “Come. Let’s go home.”

Will reaches for his hand and together they quietly exit the hotel room. 

* * *

_“H-how much wood would a woodchucker chuckle -”_

_“Not quite, Professor Sogliato,” Hannibal’s chastising voice interrupts the man’s stuttering. “You stumbled over the words. Try again.”_

_Sogliato pinches his eyes shut and swallows._

_“How much wood would a woodchuck chuck,” he recites shakily, “if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”_

_“That’s better. Though, your English pronunciation is, well…”_

_“... Appalling,” Will chimes in, grinning darkly. “You’ve got to put more twang in it. And speed it up. It’s a tongue twister, not a prayer.”_

_Sogliato turns to look at him, the look in his eyes somewhere between fearful and pleading._

_“As you just heard, our native English speaker has deemed your efforts unsatisfactory. Say it again, please.” Hannibal’s unfaltering politeness is sickly-sweet and cuts deep like a gutting knife._

_“Please, just_ — _” Sogliato protests weakly, squirming in his chair._

_“Please what?” Will cuts him off, waving around the glass of wine he’s holding. “Of all people, you would know how satisfying it is to make fun of someone speaking a language that isn’t their first.”_

_They watch as the realization dawns on the poor man as he recalls all the times he’s pointed out the tiniest imperfections in Hannibal’s Italian pronunciation and mocked him for it, while they worked at the Palazzo together. Sogliato even went as far as ridiculing and embarrassing Hannibal in front of his friends and colleagues at the opera one day. Will wanted to kill him in that moment but, as it turns out, a meticulously planned-out revenge plot is more gratifying than immediate retaliation would’ve been._

_Now, they are sitting in Sogliato’s kitchen, paying him an impromptu visit. As predicted, the man has not been a willing host, but decided to cooperate after realizing that it was them who killed Antony Dimmond. And he’s become even more cooperative after Hannibal and Will tied him to one of his fancy dining room chairs at knifepoint._

_Despite Sogliato’s blubbering, Will and Hannibal help themselves to some wine as they prepare to rid the world of his rudeness forever._

_“Doctor Lecter, allow me to apologize,” the man gasps, glancing up to Hannibal, clearly in hopes to make amends and persuade Will and Hannibal to leave his house without hurting him._

_Unfortunately for Sogliato, Hannibal is not so amenable. He has been planning this moment in the back of his mind for days, and is relishing the chance to live it._

_“Your apology would please me, but there are certain other things that would please me significantly more,” Hannibal responds vaguely, with a predatory glint visible just beneath the surface of his amber eyes._

_Sogliato’s pupils widen at the words. He watches Will nonchalantly get up and fill his and Hannibal’s glasses with more pinot noir. He makes a point not to pour any more into Sogliato’s glass, indirectly telling the man that his time is almost up._

_“Let’s try again, shall we?” Hannibal suggests, nudging Sogliato’s shoulder. The man twitches in terror._

_Will chuckles. “Don’t play with your food, Hannibal.”_

_Hannibal meets his playfully dark eyes with his own. “Apologies, my dear.”_

_“Normally I wouldn’t care and even join you in messing with the prey, this one especially deserves it, but we can’t miss our flight,” Will responds._

_Hannibal nods, knowing Will is correct. His eyes fixate on Sogliato again and he is reminded of the timetable they must keep to stay ahead of the authorities. This visit was a final farewell to tie up the loose ends, and teach an important lesson to his rude colleague._

_“Yes, yes, leave now, I promise I won’t tell anyone you were here,” Sogliato pleads, eyes wide as sweat drips down his cheek._

_Will snorts and Hannibal tilts his head._

_“Your lesson is not quite finished,” Hannibal murmurs as he wordlessly takes the knife Will holds out to him. “Generally, consequences are given for failure.”_

_Sogliato stares at the knife as his breath quickens into a pant. “No, please,_ dottore _—”_

_Hannibal ignores his irritating begging and lashes out with the knife in one smooth motion, cutting Sogliato’s throat cleanly and deeply._

_Will stands behind the man and grips his hair, making sure the blood flows over his nice clothes, down the wood of the chair, and seeps into the fibers of the rope holding Sogliato and the carpet underneath him. Hannibal flicks the red drops off his blade and stares as Will, the image of him holding Sogliato’s head as his throat gushes blood a truly magnificent one._

_Once the blood stops pumping out of Sogliato’s dead body, Will releases him and turns away from the table, towards the large window. The view showcases the most beautiful parts of the city, with the Florence Cathedral standing tall and proud among the sea of smaller but nonetheless ornate buildings._

_Later, at the airport, Will buys a postcard with the same view. When Hannibal asks who he intends to send it to, Will shakes his head. He explains that he wants a souvenir to remember their adventures in Italy by; something to commemorate their first kills together._

* * *

It becomes a habit, an unwritten rule, to buy a postcard every time they add another name to their shared kill count. Will likes collecting the postcards and displaying them in their house, and Hannibal likes sending an identical copy to Jack Crawford, from an undisclosed, new location every time. He enjoys mocking Jack, and he enjoys sharing the hunt with Will. There are several postcards in their collection now, stuck to the wall in the lounge room. 

Hannibal loves the compact little house they have in Cuba. It’s much less spacious than the mansion he had in Baltimore, but it’s a home he shares with Will, and he couldn’t be happier. They shared an apartment in Florence before this, but it didn’t feel the same. Back then they were still working on the foundations of their relationship, held back by mutual lies, manipulation, and doubts about each other. With that chapter now closed behind them, living with Will has become a whole new kind of bliss. 

It was their joint decision to find a house by the sea. It means Will can fish easily, and Hannibal can fall asleep to the rhythmic sounds of waves hitting the rocky shore, which he loves. Sometimes they take their boat out into the open waters for days at a time — the boat Hannibal bought Will for his birthday not long ago, which he slyly decided to name _Mars_. That way they can get lost in each other’s bodies and make as much noise as they want to, without drawing unwanted attention. Whenever that happens, and they’re able to lose themselves together, they rock the boat much harder than the waves do.

It’s not an opulent life, like the one Hannibal lived in Baltimore’s high society or even Florence’s academic circles, but in Hannibal’s opinion it’s the best one. Sharing his life with Will is better than anything he could’ve ever dreamed of.

He’s fought hard for this life, and he’s never going to give it up.

* * *

The worst part of every vacation is that it ends. Well, usually. On this vacation, running into Graham and Lecter — the FBI’s most sought-after serial killer couple — proved to be worse than anything. Frederick Chilton thanks his lucky stars that they let him go. If being threatened and violently knocked unconscious constituted “letting him go”. 

The condition, of course, being that he can’t say a word to the authorities about their whereabouts. Not that Frederick thought about doing so for even a second.

He has far, far better things to do with this precious information that he stumbled upon. 

His first client after shaking off the terror from seeing the lethal lovers and returning from Cuba is Mason Verger. Although the man has had multiple successful facial reconstruction surgeries since Lecter influenced him to feed his face to dogs, Frederick still feels a hint of revulsion every time he looks at Mason. He’s always turned his nose up at ugliness. Nevertheless, Frederick agreed to be the man’s psychiatrist since he pays so generously.

Today, Frederick is particularly excited for his session with Mason. He is well aware that Mason has a deep and personal vendetta against Hannibal Lecter for ruining his precious face, and would go to great lengths to ensure he gets his revenge. Frederick knows that the man has promised a large monetary reward to anyone who has information about Hannibal’s current location. Conveniently, he happens to have this information, and now his wallet is itching with anticipation. 

“Do you have any proof to substantiate your claims, Dr. Chilton?” Mason maffles, quirking an eyebrow. He seems eager yet apprehensive about Frederick diving into their session by offering up such vital information.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” Frederick replies smoothly. He’s had experience placating unruly inmates at the BSHCI, so he’s confident that he can sweet-talk Mason Verger.

Mason clucks. “But you _do_ have a reason to be afraid of what Lecter would do to you if he found out you sold him out, doctor?” 

“I told them I wouldn’t say anything to the _authorities_ ,” Frederick explains with a sly smile. “They seemed satisfied with that. As such, I’m not breaking any promises by telling _you_.”

Mason huffs out a laugh, which quickly turns into a coughing fit that Frederick watches with thinly veiled disdain. Soon enough, Mason recovers and clears his throat.

“If you think they will care about that loophole, you’re more insane than they are,” he sneers.

Frederick rolls his eyes. “They can hardly harm me for being clever when I kept my word. Do we have a deal or not?”

He looks at Mason expectantly, knowing how desperate the man is to get his hands on Lecter and Graham.

Mason smiles. “I like you, Dr. Chilton. You are a true capitalist. We need more people like you around. Yes, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

He presses a button on the arm of his wheelchair, and his aid rushes into the room.

“Get my dear friend Dr. Chilton here a nice fat check for his troubles, Cordell,” Mason says. “And start making arrangements to send a few of our men to Cuba. I hear the weather is most delightful this time of the year.”

Cordell smirks. “Yes, Mr. Verger.”

Frederick picks up his coat, ready to get paid and get out of his rich client’s house. Their session only lasted a few minutes, but it’s clear that with his help, Mason’s therapy has improved greatly.

“It’s been a pleasure,” Frederick offers politely, eyes glued to Cordell’s hand writing the check.

“Oh please,” Mason replies with a dark smile, “the pleasure’s all mine.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will doesn’t know what to make of this feeling. He’s had it for the past couple of weeks, on and off, but in that time it’s been gradually growing like the blister he’s tried to ignore on the heel of his foot. Enough to notice, enough to start seriously suspecting that something is wrong. Enough to do something about it.
> 
> They’re being watched.

Will hates the feeling. It’s unsettling to the bone, giving him goosebumps and making the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. 

His intuition is almost never wrong, and over the years he’s learned to trust it. Whenever he can sense malignant secrecy in the air, it’s for a reason, more often than not. On the other hand, Will’s overly vivid imagination can be his worst enemy at times, especially when paired with paranoia. He can paint pictures of worst case scenarios in front of his own eyes, when they’re not actually warranted. 

So, Will doesn’t know what to make of this feeling. He’s had it for the past couple of weeks, on and off, but in that time it’s been gradually growing like the blister he’s tried to ignore on the heel of his foot. Enough to notice, enough to start seriously suspecting that something is wrong. Enough to do something about it.

_ They’re being watched. _

Will can feel eyes on him whenever he and Hannibal are out in public. When he senses that someone may be looking at them he turns his head, and out of the corner of his eye he can see a flash of quick movement; whoever it is that’s watching them ducking out of his line of sight at exactly the right time. He immediately alerts Hannibal, but of course by that point, there is nothing left to see. 

Hannibal always takes his hand and reassures him that nobody is going to hurt them, that if they were truly being followed he’d pick up on it too, but Will can’t shake the unnerving sensation and he won’t distrust his instincts.

Sometimes, it follows him home. Will knows what it’s like to live in a secluded place, he’s lived like that most of his adult life. He knows how startling even the smallest sounds can be in the quietude of the wild nature surrounding his small house. That’s why Will can immediately recognize when some sounds are  _ foreign,  _ like uninvited company lurking just outside the safety of their walls.

There’s human-shaped shadows in the windows. And sometimes, when Will is alone in the house and stays completely still and silent, just to test his suspicions, he can hear a faint click of a camera shutter opening and closing. 

“I saw it again last night,” Will starts as they eat breakfast, anxiously drumming his fingers on the glass of juice in his hand. “You’d gone to bed and I was still downstairs. There was someone outside the window, Hannibal. I saw them.” 

“I don’t doubt you, dear,” Hannibal replies, serene and undisturbed as always, “but I also don’t believe it’s anything to be overly concerned about. Likely some neighborhood boy wanting to catch a glimpse of his beautiful neighbor.” 

A smile tugs on Hannibal’s mouth, but Will ignores his casual praise and eats a mouthful of bacon and eggs, savouring the taste. The breakfast is sublime, Hannibal’s cooking always is, but Will is too antsy to properly enjoy it. 

“We’ve been extremely careful all this time. I would say it’s highly unlikely that the FBI have tracked us down to this location,” Hannibal gently explains in an attempt to reassure him. “You worry too much, Will.” 

“Chilton,” Will reminds grimly.  _ We shouldn’t have let him go _ , he wants to add. 

“Our dear Frederick would not have exposed us to the authorities. He values his life too much,” Hannibal replies calmly.

Will exhales and has to admit that his partner is right. However, it does nothing to ease his apprehension, and in fact sends his mind spinning for possible explanations. “Local police then? Maybe someone reported a sighting of us?”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal muses. “Are you not in the mood for eggs today? More sausage instead?” 

Will glances at his plate, realizing he’s been so preoccupied about someone being onto them that he’s barely eaten. He shakes his head and picks up his fork again. This isn’t the time to change the subject. 

“Whoever it is, I’m concerned,” Will says through a bite of egg. “We should be more cautious. And catch them before they catch us.” 

Hannibal sighs. “In all likelihood, it’s just some opportunistic burglars spying on the property to see if we own anything worth stealing.” 

They’ve been living off of the wealth Hannibal’s family accumulated through the generations, as well as Will’s savings that he obtained from selling his house in Wolf Trap. Although they have kept a low profile and avoided flaunting their rather comfortable financial position, the pristine sailing boat in their front yard doesn’t exactly help matters. 

“In fact, I would almost be pleased if such a lowlife crept onto our property,” Hannibal continues.

Will raises an eyebrow. “How so?” 

Hannibal gives him a smile, parting his lips just enough to show the sharp edges of his teeth. 

“It’s always lovely when a feast delivers itself to your doorstep, instead of you having to go catch it yourself.” 

Will can’t help chuckling out loud. It’s amazing how Hannibal can always make him laugh, as well as plant an anticipatory feeling deep inside him, like the one a hungry predator feels in the wake of a hunt. 

If this stalker keeps doing what they’re doing, they will soon find themselves getting closely acquainted with Will and Hannibal’s kitchen  — and their collection of butcher knives.

“Aren’t you worried about the quality of the food?” Will teases.

“Not at all,” Hannibal replies smoothly. “I enjoy everyone’s unique flavor. Besides, I have gotten quite good at curing meat.”

* * *

Since Hannibal has, for now, offset Will’s anxiety about whoever it is that is watching them, Will tries to focus on other things to occupy his time. He takes the  _ Mars  _ out fishing more frequently, works his way through their bookshelf, and always accepts Hannibal’s offers for walks along the beach or into the town market.

But no matter how Will tries to distract himself, his mind always succeeds in bringing distressing thoughts to his attention.

Will’s always been at the mercy of his intrusive thoughts, all the way back to when he first started working for Jack Crawford, when the grisly details of each murder would follow him home. As time went on, thoughts of others’ murders morphed into thoughts of his own violence, directed straight at Hannibal. He used to fall asleep each night to mental images of reaching into Hannibal’s chest to feel his slippery, blood-coated organs, or imagined knocking his shiny teeth in while he smiled at Will during one of their therapy sessions.

The desire to harm Hannibal has faded away, washed clean by the roiling waters of the Atlantic. Will’s intrusive thoughts have morphed into new shapes.

At first, they were primarily focused on whoever was watching them, taking pictures of them, and all-around stalking them. Will is sure that someone is following them, and he is confident that with him and Hannibal working together, they could trap whoever it is and get to the bottom of their obsessive behavior. Then they would see if Hannibal is right and it’s simply a common burglar, or if Will is right and it’s someone of a higher caliber.

But Hannibal told him not to worry about it for now, and Will can begrudgingly admit that perhaps he is jumping the gun, so to speak. There’s been nothing to indicate a high threat other than stalking and pictures, and he is also confident in Chilton’s promise not to turn them over to the authorities. Since they are safe from the law, and whoever is following them isn’t a nuisance, Will can ignore this problem for now. 

He  _ will _ ignore it for now, to reassure Hannibal that he won’t worry about it. He knows that Hannibal worries about his anxiety levels, and he’ll do what he can to make Hannibal at ease. He still feels guilty over all the pain that he’s put Hannibal through in the past. Although he likes that he and Hannibal inspire all types of feelings in each other, they’d both experienced enough pain by each other’s hand to last a lifetime.

So instead of worrying about the obvious thing, Will thinks about something else. Something that’s been tugging at the back of his mind for a while, and he’d stubbornly ignored. Until now, when he decided to switch out the things to ignore and the things to focus on.

He thinks about how Hannibal hasn’t said he loves him since Florence.

Will’s tried not to take the omission too seriously, since they’d been busy relocating to Cuba and establishing their life here. Besides, they spend virtually all their time together and Hannibal always visibly enjoys it, not hesitating to hold Will’s hand, or kiss him, or even to initiate sex between them. Hannibal’s acting like a man in love, and frankly so is Will, and on the surface everything is fine.

But below the surface, uncertainty lurks.

Will’s said he loves Hannibal several times, straight to his face, but Hannibal hasn’t reciprocated his affirmation. Instead, he proclaims Will’s beauty, waxes poetic about his feelings, and conveys how happy he is to witness Will’s becoming, to share themselves with each other entirely, to be happy together. He’s said all of that, sometimes so emotionally that it brings real tears to Will’s eyes.

But Hannibal hasn’t said he loves him.

Will can’t help but question if Hannibal’s feelings for him are better described as appreciation or obsession, instead of love. Hannibal is the most articulate, honest man he knows. If he loves Will, surely he would have said so.

The thing that really bothers Will about this problem is that Hannibal, in fact,  _ has  _ said it to him. Once. While they were fucking in front of Freddie Lounds’s corpse.

Will had felt euphoric from passion and relief, then. Passion because of his strong love and desire for Hannibal, and relief from finally being completely honest with the man he loves and being fully accepted, even after lying to him. Their joining had been a sacred act, one performed by two people completely and utterly devoted to one another. 

They said “I love you” to each other, then. In the heat of passion, at the apex of the destined consummation of their relationship.

Will worries that it was  _ only _ that. Only a fleeting thought said in the heat of the moment, and not an accepted, fundamental,  _ pervasive  _ state of being. He doesn’t want to believe it, he doesn’t even want to consider the possibility; but he has to, because the evidence continues to build up. Will has no doubt to his own feelings, which is why he tells Hannibal he loves him regularly. He’s concerned about how Hannibal’s reply to his declarations is never, not once, a simple “I love you” in return.

Will’s starting to feel a bit foolish. Is he baring his soul to Hannibal, pouring out all the feelings he’s never felt for another person, only to have them be unreciprocated?

He doesn’t know, and now that he’s allowing himself to think about it, his anxiety about it is rapidly increasing.

Will is still ruminating on the issue after dinner one evening, lounging in the study nursing a glass of whiskey while Hannibal is seated at his desk, drawing some masterpiece. Will is stubbornly  _ not _ thinking about the shadow he’d seen ducking into an alley when he’d gone to buy some of the special fruit Hannibal likes earlier that day, so he resigns himself to thinking about what had happened after dinner.

Hannibal had made them a delicious meal of Cuban-style paella, predictably swapping out a few of the seafood ingredients for meat from their personal stores. He kept the lobster tails however, and once everything was combined with the saffron rice and red wine, the paella was delectable. Not that Will expected it not to be.

After eating their fill, they had moved into the kitchen and began cleaning up the dishes like normal. Will washed, and Hannibal dried. The only difference from any other night was that after Will finished scrubbing one particularly difficult stain and turned to give the plate to Hannibal, he was met with a glob of soap suds stuck right on Hannibal’s nose.

Will blinked, and Hannibal blinked back. Then Will burst out laughing and had to set the dish back down into the sink for fear of breaking it while he was shaking with full-body chuckles.

Hannibal made an affronted sound, but Will could tell the man was masking his own smile. Will finally took pity on his beloved and wiped the dollop of bubbles off Hannibal’s nose with a gentle hand. The moment Hannibal was soap-free, he leaned forward to press a kiss on Will’s forehead. Will could feel his lips curved up in a smile, making Will’s own smile grow bigger.

“Thank you, mylimasis,” Hannibal murmured, eyes twinkling as he pulled back from Will’s space. Will snorted with remnant amusement, and the two of them made quick work of the rest of the dishes.

It had been a pleasant evening, but now that Will is sitting in his comfortable armchair, drinking whiskey and reflecting upon his day, a detail from that interaction stands out.

_ Mylimasis. _

Hannibal has called him that before, many times. In fact, he probably says that more regularly than Will says “I love you”, now that he thinks about it. Will’s never actually known what it means, but he figures it's some sort of nickname, or term of endearment.

Suddenly, he has to know.

Will has had more than his regular couple of fingers of whiskey over the course of the night, and combined with the wine they drank with dinner, the alcohol is starting to wrap around his brain like a warm and fuzzy blanket. It drives his inhibitions down to zero and his curiosity about the mysterious Lithuanian word up to a hundred. Will sets his glass down on the wooden table with a clink, makes an offhanded excuse about getting something from upstairs when Hannibal looks up, and sneaks off into his and Hannibal’s shared bedroom. 

Hannibal’s iPad is in its usual place, charging on the man’s nightstand. Will types in the passcode — Hannibal doesn’t keep any secrets, not from him at least — and opens the Internet browser. Normally he’d use his phone for research like this, but their burner phones come with very limited data allowance, and Will used his up a week ago, when looking up the best kinds of fishing bait to use to catch the local fish species. 

A quick Google search informs him that  _ mylimasis _ easily translates to beloved, darling, sweetheart, my love — all the words Hannibal calls him in English too.  _ All the words that suggest that Hannibal loves him, but without saying it directly _ . 

Will knows he should be delighted because Hannibal uses such a vast array of terms of endearment when referring to him, even in multiple languages. But instead, there is a jarring feeling in Will’s chest. It feels like something’s not right.

Will remembers his time working at the FBI, where listening to that same jarring feeling allowed them to catch all the most elusive killers. Despite the evidence being there, Will always knew when something didn’t add up. When something was missing.

It feels like that now, too, and to Will’s frustration, he can’t figure out exactly what’s bothering him. Everything should be fine, with Hannibal calling him such sweet nicknames.

But everything is not fine, somehow.

In his last attempt to put his mind at ease, Will types  _ how to say “I love you” in Lithuanian _ into the Google search bar. Maybe Hannibal has said it to him before, but Will didn’t understand because he doesn’t speak Lithuanian? 

But no, the translated sentence looks nothing like the foreign-language phrases Hannibal speaks to him. 

Will groans and shuts the iPad off, having enough sense left in his whiskey-addled brain to exit out of the search window. He can’t think about this right now, he needs to approach this with a clear mind… or at least a hungover mind. He did his best work at the FBI when he was working off a hangover, after all.

Will puts the iPad back where he found it and fumbles through removing his clothes before slipping into his side of the bed. It’s not that late but he’s already exhausted, weighed down by being worried about the stalker, then swinging to laughing about the soap suds on Hannibal’s face, and finally ending the day by fixating on Hannibal’s almost refusal to say “I love you” but eagerness to shower Will in various terms of endearment.

Will snuggles into his pillow and sighs. Why won’t his brain give him a break? Why does he have to ruminate on every possible thing that hints at being out of place?

_ You know why _ , a little voice whispers in the back of his mind.  _ You don’t want to lose him. _

As Will flips over onto his side to look at Hannibal’s empty side of bed, he knows the thought to be true. He’s terrified of losing Hannibal, and he’ll do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening. Maybe he’s paranoid, but if the paranoia serves a purpose by ensuring that the life they have together is protected, then Will can’t find it within himself to fight it.

Maybe that’s the thing bothering Will. That he’s so willing to protect Hannibal and the life they have together, but Hannibal isn’t acting like he is. He’s waving off Will’s concerns, almost like he doesn’t care about being discovered and separated.

It’s that fear that stays with Will as he lays awake, and then follows him into his nightmares when Hannibal comes to bed and Will is finally able to fall asleep. 

* * *

The sun is already high in the sky when Hannibal awakens. Will is still soundly asleep, his brain taking its time to trudge back to sobriety. Hannibal gets up briefly to place a glass of water on Will’s nightstand and make himself a coffee, then settles back in bed with his iPad in his lap. He starts his morning with a routine browse of the Internet for any sightings of them, and what the FBI is currently up to. 

Someone named Clarice Starling is “the new Will Graham”, using her brilliant brain to catch killers. Someone called the Tennessee Triggerman is the new Chesapeake Ripper, spreading terror on the East coast of the U.S.. Someone whose name Hannibal can never remember is the new Freddie Lounds, writing articles for Tattlecrime about it all. The only key player who has remained unchanged is Jack Crawford, still miraculously heading the BAU — and still hunting Hannibal and Will. 

Hannibal smiles in amusement and switches to a new browser window to check the Tattlecrime website. As he goes to type it in, the most recent searches pop up as suggestions. Hannibal doesn’t remember using his iPad last night, and he certainly hasn’t looked up Lithuanian expressions of love. 

It appears as if his darling Will became curious, and decided to teach himself some Lithuanian in his liquor-infused haze.

Hannibal lets a fond chuckle leave his lips. In addition to googling  _ mylimasis _ , it appears that Will also searched up how to say “I love you” in Hannibal’s native tongue. Perhaps, he is planning to surprise Hannibal by saying it one day. That’s his Will, always finding new ways to express how dear Hannibal is to him. 

Immediately, Hannibal’s hand goes to brush through the curls on his beloved’s head and delicately caress his cheek. Will stirs slightly, nuzzling into the warmth of Hannibal’s hand in his sleep. He regards Will with affectionate eyes and lets the man continue resting.

Poor Will worries too much. 

They’ve successfully eluded Jack and the FBI by relocating to a different continent, and no one knows of their current whereabouts. They have managed to leave their previous lives behind and can now focus on building a new one, together. Hannibal enjoys the idyllic domesticity he has going with Will. Their mundane everyday routine is balanced by the thrill of hiding from the authorities, and their romantic cuddling on the couch is balanced by mind-blowing sex on every surface of the house. 

His relationship with Will has always been one of extremes, and now Hannibal is quite happy that they are able to balance out those extremes together. It feels like a dream come true, which makes Hannibal chuckle as he reflects upon it, because before he met Will and was completely swept off his feet, he’d never imagined that his greatest dream would be to simply settle down in a domestic, normal life with his beloved.

Now that he has this, he’s determined to enjoy every single second of it. He doesn’t want to think about anyone else other than Will, and he doesn’t want to do anything except spend time with him. The best part is, he  _ can _ .

Their life together is comparable to heaven on Earth, since it has all the positives of cohabitation and none of the negatives that would be expected in a normal relationship, due to Will’s empathy. It’s truly a fascinating gift, one that Hannibal has been entranced by for years, but now he has a new appreciation for it.

After their miscommunication was resolved in Florence, it’s clear to Hannibal that Will’s empathy is attuned to his emotions and state of mind particularly well; that is, now Hannibal is not able to keep secrets from Will, even if he wanted to. They know each other like they know themselves, so they never have any trouble, save for Hannibal scolding Will for not using enough sunscreen, or Will getting annoyed if Hannibal says something slightly too pretentious.

But even those little conflicts, Hannibal treasures close to his heart.

Hannibal didn’t ever think he’d meet someone who understands him so flawlessly, so being with Will is better than any dream come true. Will can sense his moods and feelings, and understand him even when Hannibal speaks in his typical convoluted and flowery fashion. He has always been able to pick up on the core meaning behind the vague metaphors Hannibal uses frequently. He must know that Hannibal loves to communicate in grandiloquent expressions rather than simple words, and has become accustomed to understanding it easily. 

And indeed, Hannibal delights in coming up with new and unique ways to express his love to Will. His vast knowledge of various classical literature, paired with his impeccable visual memory, allows him to use romantic quotes to proclaim his adoration towards his beloved. Similarly, when there are not enough words in the English language to describe how much he cherishes Will, Hannibal employs other languages. 

For instance, there is special significance in using the French phrase “ _ Tu me manques _ ”, which translates to “You are missing from me”; as opposed to the English equivalent of “I miss you”. Hannibal prefers the French version because his existence is incomplete when Will is missing; it’s like he’s missing a vital organ, an essential part of him. 

To Hannibal, expressions like this are more elaborate and meaningful than a simple “I love you”. Hannibal loves Will, a fact they are both aware of. To convey it, he’d rather describe and explain how and why he loves Will, using all kinds of multilingual phrases and literature quotes, instead of simply stating the fact. 

Just like how his romantic devotion is never going to grow dull and repetitive, neither will the proclamations of his feelings. Likewise, Hannibal is certain that due to his heightened empathy, Will would never fail to understand the deep meaning behind all those intricate wordings. 

But at the end of the day, when Hannibal settles into the bed he shares with Will, all the loquacious declarations fade away and a singular, undecorated affirmation from the ancient Song of Solomon dances through the warm softness of his mind.

_ My beloved is mine, and I am his. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the second chapter :)

**Author's Note:**

> What do you think of the plot so far? Let us know in the comments! :)


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